One Last Night
by uni67a
Summary: Tris discovers that she only has one last night before her execution. She decides to spend it with her only companion - Peter. {Wrote this late one night when I was bored. PETRIS.}


**Author's Note:** Tris finds out that her execution is scheduled for the next day and has a late night talk with Peter.

I'm lying on my rough cot, trying to get to sleep, when my cell door opens. I sit up and see none other than Peter Hayes standing there, clutching a blanket and pillow in his hands.

"What the hell?" I hiss, pulling my thin blanket towards my neck. I feebly attempt to cover myself, hoping he didn't see me in my thin night clothes. Peter walked closer to me, and I inched away from him until I was pressed up against the wall.

"Tris," he says, placing the pillow on the cot across from mine. His eyes meet mine and I look away. During my time here at the Erudite compound, he'd been strangely kind to me, speaking softly and touching me in the ways that only a friend would – his hand on my shoulder when I cried, his hand on the small of my back gently pushing me along through the hallways. I'd always shove him off me, but the gestures he made towards me did not go unforgotten. In a strange way, I liked it for a moment; but then I remembered my Tobias, and the fact that Peter had almost killed me, and was now aiding Jeanine in my execution. Peter Hayes was an odd boy who I never would understand, but a distant unknown part of me wanted to.

"What the hell?" I repeat hesitantly, interrupting him. "Get out." Peter looks hurt at my words for a second, and then seems to shrug it off as he walks toward me. I cower away from him.

He laughs.

"I'm a teenage boy," he says through his smile. "You're a teenage girl. That's all we are at the end of the day. We aren't going to save the world; we're not going to make a change." He hesitates, and then adds, "And I'm not going to hurt you." I don't know what to say to that.

With the attack and all, I'd forgotten that Peter and I and all my friends – we were just 16. Children, really; even Tobias was barely an adult. A bunch of kids running around with guns and governing factions and overthrowing adults. At the thought, I can't help but smile. Peter seems to relish my happiness as his face lights up.

Then suddenly he goes solemn once more, the boyish grin disappearing. He sits on the bed he has apparently claimed as his own and sighs. "Tris, I came to tell you. Your execution is tomorrow," he says. There is a tone of sadness to his voice, and I can tell in his face that he knows it. Peter Hayes just showed human emotion that I was sure he didn't have.

Peter Hayes just informed me of the day that I shall die.

At first I say nothing. I stare straight ahead and remain curled up against the wall, rocking back and forth on my heels, desperately trying to ignore the hurt and fear that hit me like a brick once those words slipped from his mouth. After all, I did come here knowing I would die; wanting to sacrifice myself, obsessed with the thought, in fact. But those thoughts of mine, wanting to die a meaningful death like my parents, suddenly seem unreasonable and stupid.

This is nothing like what my mother and father did.

I feel tears well into my eyes and lower my head, a sob escaping my lips.

That's when I hear footsteps and feel Peter's warm body next to mine. I freeze and look over to see him only a few inches from my face, his big blue eyes seeming to glow in the dark. He reaches his hand out and wipes the tears from his eyes, saying nothing. His fingers are rough but his touch feels soft and warm and tender – something that Peter is most certainly not.

"Peter?" I whisper, searching his eyes for any indication of his intent.

"Tris," he leans closer to me until his lips are near my ear. "It's okay, just trust me. It's okay." His breath is hot and tickles my neck. He puts a hand on my waist and my breath hitches. This feels so intimate.

He pulls closer to me and I sigh.

Then an image of Tobias, my boyfriend who I shall never see again, slips into my mind and the moment breaks. _This is Peter Hayes,_ I tell myself. _What has gotten into you?_

"Uh, um," I murmur, resisting against his touch. I push him away, but Peter pulls away from me at the same time, his face red, and stands up. Immediately I miss the feeling of him next to me.

"I don't know –" I stammer. "I don't know what got into me, so, uh-"

Peter says nothing, quietly walking over to his cot. He looks over at me with an almost cold stare and then looks away. I see anger flash in his eyes.

"I wasn't trying to screw you or anything, you know," he says quietly. "I'm not like that. I'm only trying to be nice to you. My mom always told me to never speak ill of the dead, and you're practically in that category, I'd say."

"My god, Peter," I snap, whipping my head around. "I knew you were freaking acting. Do you really think I wanted any of this?"

"Yes, actually," Peter sneers. The quiet, sad moments of ours are gone. Our inner beasts have come out, and the room is practically set on fire with our anger. "Considering you turned yourself in, it seems pretty probable."

"Goddamn," I say. "I really, really hate you, Peter Hayes. I don't know why the hell you got so close to me just now, acting like you cared for me, but considering I was enjoying it, you are a piece of shit for ruining the respect I had for you."

Peter stands up, his hands in fists. His face was red as a tomato, and he was literally shaking as he pointed to me. I whimper as he explodes in fury.

"Like you ever fucking respected me! You never did, you always hated me! Before Dauntless or initiation or all that shit, before you started screwing Four to get good rankings! You had that stupid air of self confidence about you in school, you and your idiot brother, just because your dad was on the council. I liked you, you seemed _nice_ – how mistaken I was. I tried talking to you, but you pursed your little lips and walked away. You never really were kind, were you? You really do only think about yourself. You know, you don't really fit in anywhere, don't have any good traits. But you do have the bad ones of the factions – you have the quick and often bad decisiveness of Dauntless, asshole confidence of Erudite, bitchy mouth like the Candor, airheady like the Amity, Abnegation arrogance," Peter shouts. "You may think this little stint of yours is daring and brave, but it's fucking cowardice. You're using the easy way out, just like pathetic Al did, coincidentally thanks to _you_. All you're going to do is hurt your friends and leave them with just another fighter gone. Four's going to die as well, you know. Think about that. You come here trying to save your friends and you end up condemning the one you care for the most. Karma's a _bitch_, isn't it?" Tears are streaming down his face now, his eyes narrowed. "I came in here to not only tell you that you'll be fucking dead by this time tomorrow, but that I'm also sorry. I'M FUCKING SORRY! I liked you, maybe even dreamed of loving you. No matter how much I hate it, I can't deny my feelings. And I'm one damn awful person but if you think you're an angel you're the farthest from the truth."

Peter rushes towards the door, and however hurt I may be, I can't help myself. His words have lit a fire in me, one that is both anger and yearning for love. I can't deny my feelings, either – Peter Hayes likes me, and I might just like him back.

"Stop!" I cry. "Stop! Please, just … just stay."

Peter turns around and shakes his head, wet streaks from his tears marking his face. "What do you want, Tris? What on Earth could you _possibly_ want, _darling_?"

"You," I murmur. "You. You to stay with me – um, tonight."

Peter stops dead in his tracks. "You really are Abnegation, aren't you? After all those things I just said to you, you want me to stay." He chuckles to himself.

"Well," I stand, sniffling and talking louder. "You did bring your blanket and pillows. And you said you wanted to comfort me, so …"

Peter stares at me, beckoning for me to continue.

"If it's my last night among the living, which really sucks, by the way, well, I'd like to spend with someone. Anyone, really," I say slowly. "And right now, you're here, and you're the least of my enemies, and if it helps you to feel kind and special and like you helped the little Stiff girl you'd once wanted to kill, I'd really like for you to stay. Oh, and by the way, due to the fact that I will be alive for less than 24 hours, I'll just ignore that immature rampage shit you went on."

Peter smirks. "Oooh, Trissy said a cuss word. You're such a bad girl." He cocked one eyebrow.

"Are you staying or not?"

"Of course," Peter says. "But not because I want to; because I'd rather not walk out of your room at midnight looking like crap and wander through the freezing, bright Erudite hallways giving people the impression that I just had one badass one night stand with you." I blush at his words, much to my dismay.

Peter walks over to me, suddenly serious. "Hey, I really am sorry. For _that_ and _this_. Seriously."

I turn away from him. "I really could forgive you, Peter. I really could."

Peter walks over to me and sits down, his shoulder touching mine. He exhales a loud breath, one that he must have been holding, and reaches for my hand. Instead of grabbing it, as I expect him to, but he simply runs a finger over the top of my hand, sending chills through my body.

"What the hell is going with you?" I say, jokingly. "Seriously. One moment you're mean and then, well…" I gesture towards his hands. I have no idea why I'm not stopping him, but at the same time I know. My mind has a thought, but my body has another.

"I'm kind of bipolar, if you haven't noticed," Peter jokes, quirking his eyebrows at me. He's still touching me.

"This is really weird," I let my thoughts slip from my mouth. "I mean, we're supposed to hate each other. We always have."

"When the girl you're attracted to is about to die, it puts a strange affect on you," Peter smiles. "People change."

I giggle, almost involuntarily.

"You really do find me … pretty?" I whisper, desperately wanting for him to say it out loud. "You really like me? Those weren't just heat of the moment words?"

Peter blushes. Peter Hayes _blushes_.

"I'm _attracted_ to you, Tris," he corrects, holding my hand tighter. "It's different."

"Well, I-" I stop myself, then decided to continue. I'll be dead in 10 hours. Screw it. "I kind of am attracted to you, too."

Peter is now grinning like an idiot.

"This has to do with the fact that your life will be over soon, doesn't it?" he says. I realize it does, that _my_ words and feelings are heat of the moment. His are not. Either way, I want him.

"Hell yes," I say. "Any other day I'd have ignored you, hated your guts and wanted you dead. But right now, you're the last person I'll ever have any kind of normal conversation with. It turns out that you like me, and it seems as though the feeling is returned. You're pretty damn … hot."

Peter smirks.

Then his lips are on mine, and I'm laying flat on the cold, hard ground, but everything in me is on fire. I put my hand on the back of his head and push him closer to me, until there's no space in between us and we're practically one.

He pulls away from my face, breathing heavily. My hand is tangled in his hair, and I try to push his lips back to mine. I _need_ him to kiss me again, but instead he rolls off of me and lays next to me. I can't help but pant, I feel so winded. I'd kissed Tobias before, but never like that – this kiss, the boy who kissed me, was suddenly everything in my mind and if I couldn't have that boy, it would most likely physically hurt.

I swing my leg over his side as I'm straddling his hips and lean in close to him. "What the hell was that?"

"The kiss?"

"No, the fact that you _stopped_ the kiss."

I try to kiss him again, and I get close, but he pushes me away. "STOP!" I scream in anger as he tries to wriggle away from me. "Why do you not want to kiss me? Did I do it wrong?"

Peter chuckles, resting his hands on my hips. "Oh, I want to kiss you. I want to do far more than that, as a matter of fact," he says.

"Well," I bit my lip. "Then do whatever you want to me. _Please_ do whatever you want to me." The Abnegation part of me, and almost every other part of me, screams that this is wrong, but I'm fighting to ignore those parts and listen to my heart, which is pounding so hard that it overcomes my rational thoughts of Tobias, and the Peter who hurt me, because this Peter is here now, and he's making me feel _so_ good.

"I can't," he says simply.

"Do you not know how?" I say, popping my bottom lip out and cocking my head mockingly. The Peter I know will always accept a challenge, and I'm desperate enough to manipulate him back into a kiss.

"Um, uh- well, I know how. I'm thought of it quite a lot. That's for sure," Peter chuckles. "It's just, this is not right. This is _not_ us. This is not Peter Hayes and Tris Prior, the greatest enemies of all time. This is you forgetting who I am, and just being a typical sex crazed teenage girl who is not think correctly. You don't love me, you just want this because you're about to die and you're a virgin, as I presume, since Tobias would never screw you."

I narrow my eyes. "Maybe it is that way," I shrug. "Probably, it is." He stares at me in his know-it-all way, looking so selfish and conceited and _handsome_.

"So, this is not happening," Peter whispers. "It's wrong, because you don't love me."

"I could," I sigh, putting my hand on his chest. I can feel his heart, thumping against his skin – so I'm not the only flustered one. I grin. "Right now, I think I love you a bit more than Four."

Peter jolts under me, his eyes wide. "You don't mean that. I saw the way you reacted to seeing him. You love him like hell. I'm just a toy for you to play with tonight. I don't want to be that, I want you to care about me."

"My GOD," I shout. "Shut the _fuck_ up! I want you to kiss me so badly right now that it hurts. I always imagined Peter Hayes to be the type to screw whatever girl he could get his hands on."

Peter smirks. "So you've thought of me in that way." He leans forward to whisper in my ear. "By the way, I like it when you're feisty." That's the last straw. He's fucking teasing me. I hate it.

Peter Hayes will be mine, whether he likes it or not.

I slam him back down, and he lets out a little cry as he hits the ground. I slap him as hard as I can and before he can realize what's going on, I crush my lips into his. He screams against my lips and flips over so he's on top of me and we're in some kind of tangled, sweaty, panting knot. We're still kissing, and I wrap my legs around him and tangle both my hands in his hair and press his face against mine desperately.

I tilt my head in the kiss and attempt to slip my tongue into his mouth like Tobias taught me on our last date. A pang of guilt hits me at the thought of him, but this moment overcomes it. Now if only Peter would stop struggling against me.

"Stop," he moans into my mouth. "Stop."

I quit kissing him, for a moment, still gripping the back of his head, and look up at him quizzically. How can he not be enjoying this when I am enjoying it so much?

"Don't get… me wrong… Tris…" Peter murmurs, pausing to breath. His chest is heaving and he's sweating. "I like … this … a lot, too… it's… just …"

"It's just nothing," I say. I want to kill him right now, but then he wouldn't be able to be kissed, and that's no good.

Then the unthinkable happens. "Well, shit, then."

He leans in and presses his lips against mine. I lean back, feeling his weight slightly crushing me. This is absolutely thrilling, pleasure hitting my body in huge waves. I sigh as he trails kisses down my neck and runs his fingers through my long hair.

"Peter," I moan. He says nothing, just continues kissing me. I turn my head so he can kiss the skin on my collarbone. He traces my tattoo with his lips and whispers how beautiful it is.

"Do you … have any … tattoos?" I pant. He leans back, a wolfish grin on his face. He is sweaty and red and his hair is incredibly messy, but he is the handsomest man I have ever seen.

"Let's see," he muttered, pulling off his shirt.

He's not as muscular as Four, but then again he is almost three years younger. Peter is still very strong and fit, which doesn't surprise me. He's amazing at fighting – how, I'm not sure, because he was only a Candor before. He catches me staring.

"Like what you see?" he teases. I bit my lip and shake my head, nervously reaching out my hand to touch his arms. I trace my hand lightly down to his tattoo on his arm. It is four thick black circles twisting around him that look like bracelets. I crawl forwards to sit on his lap and rest my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me, and it is blissful.

"What does that symbolize?" I say quietly, not wanting to break the moment.

"Hayes," he mumbles into my hair, his head resting on mine. "My surname. It means coat of arms, and I found the artwork in the tattoo parlor. It reminded me of the meaning, and Molly told me to just get it."

I stiffen. "Did you … with Molly?" I can't bring myself to say the words. Peter does not know, but I am afraid of intimacy, and if that's what tonight comes down to, I am both fearful and excited.

"No," he says, shaking his head. He runs his fingers through my hair. "It's you that I like and she knew that. That's why she hated you."

I switch my positioning so that my legs straddle him, and I hear his breath hitch. I am pleased that I can get this reaction from him, and I wiggle a little. He lets out a groan. I trace a finger down his chest and look up to him. "Why did you hate me?"

He's panting now. One point for Tris!

"Tris," he sighs. "I never hated you." He pauses and seems to re-evaluate something and adds, "Especially not now."

I slide my fingers through his belt and feel a pang of guilt. This is something I used to do with my boyfriend. Tobias and I have never gotten to second base (and never will), and here I am straddling a half naked boy and enjoying it.

The half-naked boy being Peter Hayes, specifically.

I don't know what has lit inside of me, what is going on in my head. I may never know. But at this moment, I love Peter with all my heart. I feel as though I live for his existence, for him to kiss me and sigh into my ear and do things to me that my mother would have found utterly disgusting.

Peter leans in for a kiss, and I let him. As our tongues twist with each other, I fumble at his jeans, and he pulls at my thin nightgown. It slides off me, and he tosses it to the side.

I close my eyes so I can't see the way he looks at me, the disappointment of my flat chest and curveless body. Instead, he stares at me in a way no one ever has – like I am a work of art. He traces his hands over my ribs and my sides, smiling. He then brings his hands up to my face, dragging them along my jawline. "Tris, you are beautiful," Peter says to me.

He does not say it in the way Tobias does – it is not rough, deep, loud. He says it softly, the way I'd always imagined a lover would. He does not scare me, make me think he will do things to me that I don't want him do – because that is impossible. I want him to do everything with me that is intimate. I have no fear. I reach towards him, and he reaches towards me, and we are one.

We lay next to each other, breathing heavily. My head is tucked into his chest, my arms wrapped around his torso as he runs his hands along me. I don't know what to say, so I just try to match my breaths to his.

I am somewhat self-conscious of myself – the whole experience of "sex", the thing I'd just done, was not like I'd imagined. I am sweaty, red-faced, disgruntled, and I'm afraid I was too loud. Every time I cried out or moaned I was afraid someone would walk in and see us. I was incredibly embarrassed.

"That was …" I say, trailing off.

"Yeah," Peter replies. We both share a laugh, and I feel so comforted and safe in his arms. Just as I almost drift off to sleep, I feel Peter shift next to me.

"_Shit,_" he says. "It's almost 6! I've got to be at Jeanine's office in about thirty minutes. Shit, shit, _shit_!"

I look up at him. I silently remember that I will be reporting to Jeanine's as well – I will be going to die. Tears fill my eyes, and Peter sees. He looks terribly sad, and instead saying anything, leans down for one last kiss. It is not needy or fast, it is slow and soft; perfect. I curl into him, gripping him tightly. I don't want him to go.

He reluctantly stands, letting my fingers slip from his. Peter does not want to leave either.

He leans in to whisper something in my ear, his last words. "I have a little secret – I'm not going to let you die. I have a plan. You're going to be okay. We're going to be okay. And by the way, when this is all over, I expect round two." Peter gives me a flirtatious smirk and leaves me sitting in my bed, my jaw on the ground.

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